One Sundae Night, In Vancouver
by who is sabrina
Summary: "I repeat, that's a negative on the sundaes," Shawn says tensely, and then the call is over. Gus spends that Sunday night agonizing over the alarming, abrupt end to Shawn's call from Pierre Despereaux's apartment. Episode tag to "Extradition: British Columbia." Gus' POV when Shawn breaks into Despereaux's apartment and gets confronted by the art thief himself.


Gus tossed the last of the rose petals into the trash with a frown, and then sunk heavily into one of the plush, comfortable chairs situated throughout the room. At least now, with the petals disposed of, the place was starting to look less like a romantic getaway suite, and more like a regular hotel room that could be reasonably, non-creepily shared by two best friends.

Gus hopped out of the chair, inexplicably antsy, and began to pace the room. The room that should have been shared by Shawn and Abigail. And to think that he had been so excited for a fun vacation with Shawn, when all along he had been asked as a last resort - an afterthought.

_Forget about it,_ the more logical side of his brain suggested. He really shouldn't be so upset. Sure, it had hurt to find out that Shawn had only asked him to come because Abigail couldn't make it. But really, why should he be mad at Shawn for that? Of course he would want to go on a romantic getaway with his girlfriend. And if she had to cancel, well, at least Shawn had still wanted to take the trip with Gus. And Shawn had been enjoying himself, too, despite the weirdly charming and intimate places on their itinerary. Really, Gus was the only one making a big deal out of it.

He sighed, falling back into the armchair and picking up the remote on the table next to him. He flicked on the TV and thumbed thoughtlessly through the channels, insides squirming uncomfortably. He probably shouldn't have pushed Shawn out of the carriage, leaving him in the dark and cold of an unfamiliar city. It was petty. Childish, even. Not that the two of them had ever been the epitome of maturity.

Gus switched off the TV, finding nothing to hold his interest, and pulled his phone out instead. No calls. No texts. The numbers on the clock changed. It was now 10:43pm. _Should Shawn be back by now? _As if on cue, Gus' phone lit up. He had it to his ear before it even started ringing.

"Shawn!"

"Gus! Guess where I am right now!" Shawn began without preamble, his voice a breathy whisper ringing with excitement and anticipation. He continued without giving Gus time to answer. "I'm in Despereaux's room, right now!"

"What?! You're kidding!" _Out of all the places..._

"No, I'm not kidding," Shawn whispered back, positively giddy. "Yeah, I'm- I'm gonna rifle through all of his stuff, and then I'm totally gonna pull a John Turturro from _Miller's Crossing_ on him. And then we'll get some sundaes." Gus frowned, rising to his feet.

"Shawn-"

"I'm just gonna sit here quietly, wait for him to get back, and then I'm gonna click on the lamp, scare the gingersnaps out of him. Whaaaaaatt?!" he celebrated briefly, before shushing himself.

"Shawn, that is _not_ a good idea," Gus warned, feeling his own pulse starting to quicken. "Don't you remember how that movie ends?"

"No, I don't remember how that movie ends," Shawn responded calmly. "Why?"

"Because-"

"_Whoa!_" Shawn shouted suddenly. Gus clenched the phone tighter, feeling the temperature of the room drop a couple of degrees. "That's, uh, that's a negativo on the sundaes, buddy," he heard his friend say. Words casual, tone tense. He was talking fast, attempting breezy lightness, the exact way he always did when they found themselves in trouble. Gus could only imagine what was going on at the other end. "I repeat, negative on the sundaes."

"Shawn!" Gus hissed into the phone. "What happened?" But there was only silence. Gus pulled the phone away from his ear, studied the screen frantically. Shawn had hung up.

Gus cursed quietly, a finger hesitating over the call button. If Shawn was now hiding or otherwise trying to escape, calling him and making his phone ring wouldn't do him any favors. But, how else would he know what was happening? He stopped his frantic pacing (when had he started?) and felt a wave of dread crash over him like a bucket of ice water. He knew nothing - _nothing_ \- about what was happening. He had no idea where Despereaux's place was, and not even the slightest inkling of where to begin looking. He had no clue what was happening, what Shawn was doing now, what he had seen or heard that had made him shout.

He kept his finger hovering over the call button, knowing that calling Shawn was the wrong move, and yet desperately, _desperately_ wanting to. His imagination kicked into full gear as the seconds passed him by. Despereaux shooting Shawn and dumping his body. Knocking him out and taking him with him on the run, as a hostage. Or maybe just shoving him off the balcony of some high and classy skyscraper.

Gus sat down on the bed, doubling over to put his head between his knees. He wished Shawn would call him, text him, anything. He glanced at his phone. Nothing had changed except the time. Should he call Jules? Lassie? But that, too, would solve nothing. He still didn't know where Shawn was, or what he had gotten himself into. Really, there was only one option: wait.

**...**

At 11:17, there was a soft mechanic whir and a click, and Gus heard a hotel key being removed from the lock. He was on his feet in seconds, nerves taught, heart racing. The door swung slowly open as Shawn slid his way inside, a pineapple sundae in each hand, key card held securely between his teeth.

"Shawn!" Gus exclaimed, rushing over to engulf his surprised friend in a bear hug.

"Whoa, whoa, watch the sundaes," Shawn admonished, voice muffled by the key card. Gus ignored him. Shawn spit out the card; it landed silently on the fluffy carpet. "Geez, Gus, what's the deal?" Shawn asked. "You were the one all weirded out by the rose petals. Now you're just gonna hug me for five minutes?"

"Shut up, Shawn," Gus told him, without any real heat. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Whoa, buddy, what's going on?" Shawn asked sharply. Gus could feel him tense a little. "What happened?" Gus finally pulled away, fiery relief giving way slightly to irritation.

"What _happened_, Shawn, was that _you_ were sneaking around in some world class criminal's apartment, and then got all freaked out and hung up on me, and never called me back! Seriously, dude, anything could've happened to you, and I wouldn't have known. I didn't even know where you were, or if you needed help, or anything. Why didn't you call me as soon as you got out of there?"

"I got sundaes," Shawn shrugged, offering one to Gus. He took it with a frustrated huff.

"You know, those twenty minutes you spent in line for these were twenty minutes I was freaking out, wondering if you were even alive or not, or if I should start calling Jules and Lassie. I spent the last ten minutes debating about whether or not to drive around to some of the local hospitals to see if you'd shown up."

"Wow, hold your seahorses-"

"Hold your _horses_."

"I've heard it both ways. No need to get so dramatic! I'm fine, buddy, seriously," Shawn placated, spreading his arms wide and grinning to show his uninjured, unbothered state.

"Fine." Gus swirled his plastic spoon into his pineapple sundae, finding himself without an appetite. "So what happened, anyway?" he asked.

"Heh, funny you should ask," Shawn began. Gus eyed him suspiciously. "Turns out, Despereaux actually pulled a John Turturro on _me_. Clicked on the light and everything. Scared the gingersnaps out of me."

"That's when you hung up."

"Yep," Shawn agreed, digging into his sundae.

"And then what did he do?"

"Wow, this sundae is _good_. Gus, did you try-?"

"Focus, Shawn."

"Okay, okay. Yeah, he said the usual spiel, about how I was starting to get in his way and stuff. And he was packing."

"Packing? You mean, he had a gun?"

"No, no. Well, yeah. He did have a gun, but he was packing, actually packing. Putting stuff into his suitcase, all neat and tidy." Shawn ate another spoonful, frowning in thought.

"So he's leaving town?"

"No..." Shawn said slowly. "No, I don't think so. I think he wanted me to think he was leaving."

"Well, why do you think he's _not_ leaving?"

"His dry cleaning. I saw a box in his closet with his order. It doesn't come back until Tuesday. And he is _not_ the kind of guy to leave without his dry cleaning." Gus pondered this.

"So, what are you gonna do?"

"I don't know," Shawn admitted, fishing into his sundae for the cherry. Gus regarded his own sundae. It did smell pretty good.

"Well, what did Despereaux do, after he packed? He just let you go?"

"Yep. Just like that." Shawn plopped into a nearby armchair. "You know, I think he likes me, Gus."

"Psh. Didn't he threaten you?"

"Well, yeah."

"With a gun? Is that how you know he has one?"

"Yeah," Shawn admitted again. "But he didn't _use_ it."

"Thank God for that," Gus said fervently, slumping into an armchair, too. He tried the sundae. Shawn was right; it was good.

"Hey, um..." Shawn cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly, studying his sundae intently. "Sorry I didn't call. And, uh, I guess I should've told you this trip was originally for me and Abigail when I first asked you to come."

"Yes, you should've." Gus nodded. A few seconds ticked by in which the only sound was the scraping of spoons against cups. "And I guess I shouldn't have kicked you out of the carriage ride."

"No, you shouldn't've," Shawn agreed, grinning. He reached over and grabbed the remote, gesturing towards the blank TV screen. "_Miller's Crossing_?"

"You know that's right."


End file.
